Top 200: Unsaid moments
by MeetVirginia
Summary: Co-written: A series of drabbles about the 200 top mentioned characters in the Harry Potter series. What was Gabrielle Delacour thinking? Helga Hufflepuff? Mrs. Black?   The first few are rough...so feel free to skip to the end.
1. Augusta Longbottom

**AN: This is a series of drabbles about the top 200 most- mentioned characters in the Harry Potter series. It starts with Augusta Longbottom, (mentioned 13 times,) and ends with...you guessed it, Harry Potter, (mentioned 18956 times.) Co-written between my friend (Mo) and I. **

* * *

><p>Until the day he stopped, Augusta Longbottom swore: Her son wore her down faster than age. Frank <em>fought back <em>sharp, and (maybe) it was _all _for the best, because Augusta didn't take to _nice_ things (_soft _things.) _Soft _things bruised and caught in her world of thick edges. _(Spiked bag, vulture- tipped hat, bony elbows, hook nose, sharp chin, claw- like hands.)_

"_Be sharp, **Neville** boy."_

Later, Augusta tried not to hate her son (tortured, half mad,) with his dull, muted eyes. She hated _her _voice, her own sugary breath. _(That's nice, Frank dear.)_ Fight back, Frank dear! Frank- dear. Frankdear. She _almost_ hated their boy, (Neville- boy, Nevilleboy,) and his same vacant expression. (Mouth open, head lolled.) He **was** empty as the lot. (motherless, fatherless-)

_ "Fight back, Neville-boy."_

-And until he was nine, Augusta Longbottom swore: Her grandson was _mostlikely_ **a** squib. Neville didn't _fight back_. He was doughy, squashy_, leafy._ (like:_ mandragora, atropa belladonna, mimbulus mimbletonia.) _

-And until he was fifteen, Augusta Longbottom swore: Her grandson was _mostlikely_ a coward, _weakling, milksop, mouse, sissy. _(But Augusta was wrong.)

"Be strong, Nevilleboy."

Neville was strong.

Augusta was proud of the boy she raised. For the boy she hadn't (quite) believed in. Her **hero** grandson (with his sharp sword,) and valor. Her _soft_ heart swelled with pride.

"Be strong, Nevilleboy."

Neville was strong.

* * *

><p><strong>If you hated this, read the next one!<strong>

**I promise, I didn't write it. (My friend did)**

**If you liked it, REVIEW. (I shall bestow upon you a magical cookie.)**

**I write the odd chapters. (3, 5, etc.)**

**-Vi**

**p.s. I hid a secret message, can you find it?**


	2. Troy

**I said that Augusta Longbottom was mentioned thirteen times, I meant twelve! SORRY**

**Troy (12 mentions)**

**Troy was a chaser for the Irish quidditch team that won the Quidditch World Cup in 1994. Together, he and Quigley lifted the cup into the air after they won. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

* * *

><p>Troy had promised himself that nothing would ever trump his memory of 1994. He had resigned himself to a quiet life in comparison to that year, that day, that moment.<p>

It had been Quigley's idea of sorts; he had always wanted to go out with a bang and didn't make a secret of it. But Troy, Troy had been swayed by the energy of the moment; the pure adrenaline that began to rush through his veins the moment Aidan had given that holler. It pierced the silence that had filled the stadium just moments before, the spectators with their breath held and the players refusing to let any small happening affect their concentration.

Quigley had approached him before the match, had given him a pep talk of sorts, but it was as confusing to Troy as the prospect of Quigley approaching him at all. Troy wasn't used to socializing. Ever since his late start on the team he had been an outsider. It wasn't that the team had been ostracizing him, per say, but simply that there had been no effort to become more than acquaintances by either party.

Things were different now. In the moments after the cheer erupted from the crowd, Quigley's left eyelid fluttered, a small, quick movement that could have been a simple twitch, but Troy knew. It was an invitation, a peace offering.

He gripped the handle, the cold, hard metal cutting into his blistered palms. On the other side, Quigley furrowed his brow, seeming to freeze the moment in his mind, keeping hold of it as hard as his grip on the cup. Then, in unison, the two locked eyes and hoisted it into the air. A small gasp escaped from Troy's mouth and it was pure exhilaration, pure joy.

It was then that he resigned himself. This was his peak, his moment of eternal glory. That was Quigley's gift; the most precious one Troy had ever received. Acceptance.

* * *

><p><strong>Hopefully, you will enjoy this and REVIEW! But if you don't, then review the next one, because I can promise you that Vi's passages will be nothing but praiseworthy! I'm going to be writing the even numbered passages, so you should read them and hopefully you won't hate them... Once again, REVIEW! Thanks so much!<strong>

**-Mo**


	3. Avery

**Avery (13 mentions.)**

**Avery was Severus' friend at Hogwarts, and went on to become a Death Eater. Lily Potter thought he was "creepy," and "evil."**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter. But if I owned it I would have to wish that, now would I? Therefore: I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>"Tomorrow, my <em>friends<em> the Potters will be dead. Isn't that right, Severus?"

He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named paused, addressing Snape across his table of stone-faced followers. (Death Eaters.)

The young Death Eater looked up. His hair (dark and oily,) parted like curtains across his face.

"Yes, m-my lord." He said, fighting to keep his voice steady. (Emotionless.)

-Across the table Avery couldn't help but smile (_cruely, sadistically.) _He and Snape had went to school together, after all. He remembered Lily _Potter_-

* * *

><p><em>"-Filthy little mudblood."<em>

_Avery's left hand knocked Lily's __shoulder against the wall, his wand (blackthorn, veela, twelve inches,) pressed against her chin._

_Lily spat at his face, drool catching on her hair-_

_(Red, _

_shiny.)_

_"Why you-" He shrieked._

_Avery was about to let loose a string of foul curses. __Dark ones, (found in the restricted section in the dead of night,) that only Mudblood brats deserved._

_"-Avery, stop it!" A cool voice called from behind him. Avery flashed around-_

_"Severus," he spat. Then Lily escaped-_

_And leered at him, her wand was pointed at Avery's chest in a heartbeat. _

_And Severus (Severus,) stood behind her._

_The blood traitor. (Severus.)_

_Her friend. (Severus.)_

_Rage erupted-_

* * *

><p>-Avery smiled<em>, <em>forgetting himself_. _(Where he was, who he was with.)

"The Potters will be dead. Isn't that right, _Severus_?" Avery repeated The Dark Lord's words like a giddy child. The cult of Death Eaters stared.

Snape looked down. He- Who- Must- Not- Be- Named looked up.

"Ahh Avery, best remember your place." The Dark Lord said coldly. (Avery's place was not-interrupting-the-dark-lord)

"Yes, My Lord." Avery said desperately.

"Still, I'm pleased some of you remember a mudblood's place." Voldemort continued, with a venomous glare at Snape. (Lily Potter's place was dead.)

"Yes, of course. Thank you M' Lord" Avery said, groveling.

"-You've proven yourself faithful, Avery" Voldemort said to be rid of him.

(Avery-the-faithful.)

"I remember, my Lord!" A second voice cried, (A woman,) with a flushed, _prettyyoung_ face. "I remember a Mudblood's place, that is."

(Bellatrix-the-faithful.)

The woman went unanswered-

"Severus?" The Dark Lord asked, fixing his eyes on the young Death Eater, (With hair that parted like curtains on his face.)

"M' lord?" Severus asked numbly.

(Severus-the-faithless.)

"What must we remember?" The Dark Lord goaded.

(Sweeping past him, never removing his gaze.)

"A mudblood's place." Severus echoed, like a school boy.

His voice was hollow.

* * *

><p><em>Hs voice was hollow. <em>

_"I don't know what came over me, the mudblood bitch." Later, Snape tried to apologize to Avery for defending Lily. _

_(She means nothing. She-means-nothing. Shemeansnothing.)_

_But Avery knew, it was Snape's lying voice-_

* * *

><p>-After all those years.<p>

(Hollow.)

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews make me happy inside. (Walk-around-all-day-with-a-smile-on-my-face happy.)<strong>

**So...please?**

**(-Vi)**


	4. Jimmy Peakes

**Jimmy Peakes (13 mentions)**

**Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter**

**Jimmy Peakes was a sixth year during the battle of Hogwarts. He was friends with Colin Creevey, who died in battle.**

* * *

><p>Minerva McGonagall was acting like a bitch.<p>

Jimmy had rushed downstairs in a herd of other sixth years, all with the same vacant expression, all just as perplexed by the unidentified sounds erupting around them.

Of course, Jimmy was aghast at the sight that met his eyes, but he understood immediately. Frankly, he had been expecting it for days; the unvoiced concerns, the barely whispered rumors; it had all been building up to this monumental moment. The past seventeen years, in fact, had been leading up to this moment. It was a culmination of good and evil and senseless battles that very few understood the meaning of. Jimmy himself knew very little, but one did hear things.

The Great Hall was a mess.

In the center of the hall, a group of disoriented teenagers stood trying to organize themselves. Jimmy recognized a few; Ginny Weasley was a sixth year, like him, but she never had time for boys like him, the seventh year named Neville was there too, and strange girl called Luna. All around them, teachers scrambled, herding first years into groups and gathering the elder students into groups, preparing for the battle to come.

"Peakes, Creevey, this way please," came a sharp voice from behind him.

Wheeling around, Jimmy found himself face to face with none other than Professor McGonagall. Normally composed and severe looking, McGonagall seemed anything but composed. She looked around, distracted, with a worried look replacing her usually fierce expression, strands of loose hair having escaped the clutches of her tight bun and falling haphazardly in her eyes.

"No, Professor, I'm going to stay. I want to help defend Hogwarts." Jimmy told her, looking at Colin as he spoke.

Colin chimed in, "We'll both be seventeen in a month and we'd like to help fight, Professor."

McGonagall sighed, pushing a stray hair out of her face, "I'm sorry, boys, but all students under the age of seventeen must leave at once. I am going to trust that, for your own good, you will join your classmates and leave this particular adventure for those more fully prepared to face the consequences."

The two began to protest, but McGonagall only hurried away, making her way through the crowd to a group of scared looking third years and leaving them to be swept up in the crowd pushing out of the doors and into the dark night.

Jimmy looked at Colin, watched as a half formed thought began to surface in his eyes. Although Colin had never been a hero, or even a rebel, Jimmy had always valued a certain curiosity he had within him, a certain meter for the goodness in others. He was no Harry Potter, but Jimmy was happy to be his friend. He had a quiet bravery.

Now, as Jimmy was rushed out of the Great Hall, a silent sort of message passed between them as they locked eyes, the kind that only two close friends can share in a moment quite like this. And so, Jimmy stopped. So abruptly, in fact, that the student in back of him, a quiet girl named Demelza Robins, stumbled into him and let out a small squeak.

Weaving through the hurried students, Jimmy and Colin made their way to the edge of the crowd and began to slowly make their way back inside, sticking to the perimeter of the students and slipping quietly back inside.

Once inside the Great Hall, the two made their way quickly up the steps, concealing themselves in a group of shrieking fourth years hurrying down. Upon reaching the top of the steps, the two stopped, unsure of where to go next. Surprisingly, Jimmy felt no fear. In the back of his mind, he knew of the imminent danger, the great risk that they were taking, he knew that it might make little difference, but he could not stand by to watch Hogwarts crumble.

Colin gave him a small smile, just slightly nervous, but clearly trying to muster up the courage for such a daunting task. "Let's do this," Jimmy replied, brandishing his wand.

* * *

><p><strong>Who is excited for Deathly Hallows part 2? Look for Jimmy Peakes. He will be in the background FIGHTING! -Mo<strong>


	5. Caractacus Borgin

**Borgin is the co- owner of Borgin and Burkes. He bought the locket of Salazar Slytherin off Merope Gaunt, unaware of it's worth.**

**Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling (But I wish I was!)**

* * *

><p>She came from money. Her robes were fastened with gold.<p>

"What's the story sweetheart? Not enough sweets at home?" Burke said, (his voice like gravel.)

It was obvious to Burke; she had run away. Her hair, hands, body were matted with dirt.

(Tears had carved waterfalls down her dirt- clad face.)

"N- no." The girl said shaking her head violently.

(She was trying to sound indignant, _independent_.)

"-Right," Burke said huffily. "So what do you have for me today, love?"

The girl extracted a large, silver locket. Burke reached out, took it.

(Extra sure not to touch her filthy, cracked hands.)

Six minutes later, she left, with a few extra galleons in her pocket.

(And a faded hood fastened over her head.)

Six minutes later, Burke watched her go, turning the locket over in his hands.

(The locket of Salazar Slytherin.)

* * *

><p>"<em>Name?"<em>

"_Riddle" She'd told him. "Merope Riddle."_

"_Alright then."_

* * *

><p>Outside the shop, Merope keeled over in the snow. (Clutching her swollen belly under layers of cloth.)<p>

* * *

><p>Inside Borgin and Burke's, all was calm, (quiet, dry.)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Review if you're excited for Deathly Hallows part 2!<strong>

**(That should be everyone.) -Vi**


	6. Wilkie Twycross

**Wilkie Twycross (13 mentions)**

**Wilkie Twycross is the Apparation Instructor who teaches Harry, Ron and Hermione. He is the target of criticism by most students and is teased of taking a particular fancy in Hermione because of his praise for her skills.**

****(Thanks to our awesome reviewers: Laffy-Taffy the Grape & Jenna Linda)****

* * *

><p>He was the face of apparation. From the wispy, white blonde tufts of hair on the top of his head, all the way down to his skinny ankles, as though he might fade away into nothing at any given moment.<p>

That's what he had been told since the age of twelve. Getting off the train for summer vacation, his mother had given him one look and sighed. Giving him a half hug, she hurriedly tugged on the hem of his shirt. Tall and lanky, most of his shirts barely covered his naval in those days and the disapproving look on his mother's face was impossible to miss.

"_Wilkie, dear,"_ she pressed, _"you're growing like weed. Don't they feed you any food at that school? Didn't you go out for the quidditch team? I told you, we need to get some muscle on those bones! Come now, Wilkie, dear. Didn't you listen to a word I said?"_

It would continue in that manner for sometime, shifting seamlessly from his weight to height to general appearance. In his mother's eyes, he was an unsolvable dilemma, a problem she just couldn't riddle out the answer to. It was a sort of entertainment for her.

He often wondered if, had he been given another appearance, or perhaps a different mother, he would have ended up differently. Maybe he would have been auror, or maybe an alchemist or philosopher, instead of an average Ministry employee. Or, maybe, he would have become a teacher all the same. Maybe it was his fate, his calling in life. Personally, he had never had time for such things.

It wasn't that he was complaining exactly. After all, he was perfectly content to lead an average lifestyle. Frankly, he had never wanted any grandeur, but he had always wondered, imagined what could have been. Instead, he passed each day teaching teenage witches and wizards, who were noncompliant at the best, the three D's of apparation and dealing with splinched limbs and keeping track of endless numbers of silver hoops bearing the war marks of past horrific apparations.

There was a certain rhythm too it, a certain serenity that came from the passing of the same information over and over again, day in and day out. "Dog-breath," "Dung-head," they called him, when they didn't think he could hear, but he knew, in twenty, thirty years, they would be thankful. They would never work up the courage to tell him, but he knew it all the same.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you guys have been enjoying all of these! Reviewing is FUN. (Try it.)<strong>

**Thanks!**

**-Mo**


	7. Professor Tofty

**Professor Tofty (13 mentions.)**

****Tofty was one of the professors who conducted the O.. in Harry's fifth year. When the aurors launched four stunning spells at Mcgonagall, causing her to collapse, Tofty forgot the examination and shouted in anger at such a disgraceful assault.****

**For the purposes of this story I'm pretending he (once) taught Charms at Hogwarts.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. (If I did I'd have already seen Deathly Hallows part 2!)**

* * *

><p>She was almost exotic. Seventeen, and crisply graduated, she wore her hair in a tight bun.<br>(Unlike her peers, and their _glistening_ curls.)

She spent no time with _makeup. _(Rouge, eye-shadow, or lipstick.)

And she was often found riding around town on her broom, (right leg dangling inches of the ground,) with her nose stuffed in a heavy book. (Everyone swore: She was going to crash.)

It was her summer after Hogwarts, and she'd finally returned home.

Professor Tofty was 9 years her senior, and he shouldn't have noticed her. _(Or liked her, or thought of her.)_ He lived next door, (The neighborly neighbor.) And as the summer progressed, he spent more and more time out of doors: An excuse to stop her on her way out.

"Good day!" he called.

(That was how their conversations usually began.)

"Professor?" She asked, (_innocently.)_

(She'd started wearing _rouge-eyeshadow-lipstick_. He'd noticed.)

"Minerva, How are you?" He asked kindly.

"I'm fine," She said, (rather formally,) "Thanks."

"How's the job search going?"

"Great, the job opportunities for a seventeen-year-old are never ending" Her eyes pierced him. "That was joke," She explained after a moments hesitation.

Tofty tilted his head back and laughed like a child, (far longer than he should have.)

"-Yes," He finally said, blinking back tears from his eyes. "Have you thought about an internship?"

Minerva stared bluntly at the man, _her neighborly neighbor_, (who laughed too hard, and smiled too much.)

He was a walking caricature, (but the handsomest man in her small, gaited town.)

"I suppose," Minerva said, a thought forming in her eyes. "I'm interested in becoming a professor. But I've had no luck, finding _someone-" _

_(Someone who noticed her, or liked her, or thought of her.)_

"Oho! I'm a professor." He said. (Her breath caught.)

_Really now?_

That year she helped him teach Charms. (She preferred Transfiguration.)

Years later, as she collapsed, he remembered her;

(Letting her hair down.)

She grew up fast.

* * *

><p><strong>I like unicorns, do you like unicorns?<strong>


	8. Karkus

Karkus (13 mentions)

Karkus didn't like wizards.

Odd thing was, he wasn't sure exactly what these two were. The female stood about fifteen feet tall and appeared as though she could have easily had a giant somewhere in her bloodline. As for the male, he was just slightly smaller than her, but still too large to be an average wizard. They were an odd couple, to be sure, but Karkus couldn't be bothered. He didn't care much for who they were or why they were here. All that registered in his mind was their unwelcomed presence and the potential problems they had brought with them. As far as he was concerned, they were already corpses.

Of course, the male began speaking at once, a low gravelly sort of sound that Karkus had no intention of understanding. Karkus turned away, hoping that, if ignored long enough, the two might simply walk away, recognize a lost cause when they saw one. But, of course, they didn't.

The male raised his voice, talking more quickly and urgently and gesturing violently with his small hands. But Karkus still wasn't listening.

Karkus was two days previous, in his mind.

_He was sitting, slumped against a large boulder, the small of his back collapsed, head lolled, hands dangling. His eyes rested on the head, lying a few feet away. It was his father's head, in fact. Only a few moments before, Karkus had ripped it off, rightfully inheriting his title as Gurg of the Giants. _

The small male was commanding his attention again, waving his hands in despair and giving little shouts. Resentfully, Karkus eyed him once more, watching with annoyance as the little wizard continued to grovel.

Just as Karkus began to gather his frustration into a specific thought, began to calculate the number of seconds it would take him to tear the male to shreds, the male did something that really did get his attention. Appearing almost out of thin air, the male produced a small bush, dried and cracked, burning with a sort of unquenchable incandescence; a Gubraithian Fire. The fire danced and sparkled in the reflection off the lake, drawing every eye to it. Karkus took a step closer, squinting at the flames, then made one small quick movement with his forefinger, summoning a translator of sorts.

"_Now_," Karkus thought, "_we can talk_."


	9. Adrian Pucey

**Adrian Pucey (13 mentions.)**

**Adrian was a Slytherin Beater.**

**Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling I would have announced a new book by now. And seeings as a new book hasn't been announced...**

* * *

><p>When Adrian asked Leanne Dashwood out, he took it slow.<p>

(Because Adrian Pucey was a _gentleman_.)

They went on a date-

held hands-

kissed.

That was the progression of his life:

You started out small, and you worked at it-

worked at it-

He was ambitious, in a _constant_ way.

When Adrian taught himself to fly a broom, he took it slow too.

He started out at:

five feet-

ten feet-

fifteen feet-

He reached 500 feet, eventually, _(ambitiously.)_

_(He started out at five feet.)_

And in his three years on the team, he was the only Slytherin quidditch player _never_ to commit a foul.

(Because Adrian Pucey was a _gentleman_.)

He played Quidditch differently, _(Cleanly, smartly, quickly.)_

He dated differently: _(A Hufflepuff, A Halfblood; with bangs.)_

_The strange Slytherin_

_The-strange-Slytherin_

_ThestrangeSlytherin_

He didn't stop, despite the jeers.

(He was a Slytherin after all; he disregarded rules.)

_Their rules._

* * *

><p><strong>ITS MY BIRTHDAY<strong>

**I'd like a review as a present!**


	10. Hassan Mostafa

**Hassan Mostafa (13 mentions)**

**Hassan Mostafa served as the referee for the four-hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup. Halfway through the finals, however, he was entranced by the Veela, the Bulgarian mascots. After recovering from the shock, he wanted them sent off the pitch.**

**Thanks to our super-mega-foxy- awesome- hot reviewers (of chapter 9): 13Aphrodite, AliRiddle, JediGreenGirl and Laughy- Taffy The Grape**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>Long, white-blonde hair, brilliantly blue eyes and flawless, pale skin: the face of the devil.<em>

They would be the death of him, women. Always throwing them selves about, flaunting their bodies, twisting the minds of men, corrupting them. The Veelas at the World Cup had only been the beginning, embarrassing him, tormenting him in front of thousands of spectators. He hated women. And now, there was _her._

She had appeared so suddenly; it had taken Hassan by surprise. It was a rare day that he had company this late on the pitch, and it was even rarer that he wanted any. Watching her approach him, he was unsure of himself. He had never been a conversationalist, and had no intention of starting now.

Her emerald robes billowed in the crisp breeze, causing her to stumble over the hem as she made her way towards him. She wasn't pretty, not even good-looking.

_Cropped, copper-colored hair, muted gray-blue eyes, freckled skin: she was average, like him._

She wasn't impressive, but her confidence never faltered, her eyes never left his. Even when she stopped, a few meters from him, she stood, eyes still locked on his, not scanning, not staring, simply looking, as though he were a signpost giving her some tidbit of irrelevant information she already knew. It was awkward.

"_I wasn't meant to be anything more than a referee,"_ he thought, as he focused his eyes on the laces of his trainers, the cuff of his oxford shirt, anywhere but those placid eyes_, "nothing too wordy." _He was good at is job. He had soon found in life that a job that required little interpretation and communication was the job for him. He was a natural disciplinarian, straightforward, a rule man.

He stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other for another uncomfortable moment. That was when she smiled. It was a strange smile, a little knowing, a little patient, a little too confident. It was too much. He was scared, he wanted to turn and run. So he did.

_Shiny, hairless scalp, murky, brown eyes, dark skin: he was a coward._

With a sort of purpose and finality, he turned away, haphazardly collecting his belongings. She watched quietly as he fingered his battered Cleansweep Six, as he paused for a moment with his back to her, as he walked away.

Why she was there, he never knew, and never would know, but it never mattered, and never would matter. She didn't say a word, nothing at all, but he wished she would have. He wished it quietly, a silent prayer as he slipped away from his fear, from a chance to be more than a referee, a disciplinarian, from her.

_Cropped, copper-colored hair, muted gray-blue eyes, freckled skin: she was beautiful._

* * *

><p><strong>Quote of the day: Minerva Mcgonagall: "Bring Seamus, from what I recall he has a particular proclivity for pyrotechnics"<strong>

**Have you seen Deathly Hallows Part 2? Did you dress up? (Vi was Tonks and I was Draco. _Yes...I'm a girl._) What was your favorite quote?**

**LALALALALA**

**- Mo**


	11. James Sirius Potter

James Sirius Potter has never seen his father that mad. Harry's voice was low, (frighteningly low,) as he burrowed through the drawers of his study, retrieving a foot of cracked parchment and a quill.

"James, who are your parents?" He asked. Straightening the parchment along his desk.

_Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Potter_

(James said blankly, and Harry wrote.)

"Right," Harry said. "Imagine we died when you were one."

(Harry tore off their names, and lit them on fire with the tip of his wand.)

"James," He continued. "Who is your DADA Teacher?"

_Professor March_

(James said, and Harry wrote.)

"Imagine he died in your first year. Imagine he tried to kill you." Harry said, his voice rising, (_steadily_.)

(Harry tore off Professor March's name, and lit it on fire with the tip of his wand.)

"James, who is your best friend?"

_Umm Fred_

(James said, but Harry wrote: Phillipa Bellinstead.)

"Imagine that Pippa was petrified by a basilisk, and Fred's sister, Roxanne she was taken by it!" Harry said, (His _calm_ voice cracked.) James recoiled; he'd never seen his father act like this, _ever_.

"Imagine your god father is sentenced to The Kiss," Harry continued.

_Ron Weasley_

(James answered immediately this time. But Harry made no move to write down his name.)

Harry set the quill down, and looked up at his son.

"Imagine this all happened by your third year."

There was a banging on the door.

"Harry!" Ginny called, "James, what's going on?"

"Imagine Mum and I die," Harry said quietly. "Imagine my two best friends die, your next best thing dies. Your owl dies. _Try to imagine it_."

(Was it strange that the thought of his owl dying upset James the most?)

James knew people hunted owls. But he couldn't fathom people hunting people.

(Whether _mudbloods, or muggles, or blood traitors, or Undesirable No.1s)_

He couldn't imagine his family in danger. All was safe.

_(All was well.)_

* * *

><p><strong>Fill in the blank: This story is as _ as _.<strong>

**ex: This story is as appalling as the idea of Dramione.**

**-Vi**


	12. Helga Hufflepuff

**Helga Hufflepuff (14 mentions)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I wish I did!**

* * *

><p>They had the same eyes: stony and gray, with flecks of emerald that seemed to scatter with every blink.<p>

"_Snake-eyes", she'd teased, secretly coveting his stern air, abandoning her softness for his strict constraints; forcing youthful curves into pin-straight lines._

It all came rushing back, the age-old story she knew so well: the fatal attraction, the subtle courtship, the follow-through.

_It was all too innocent, a twinkle in the eye threatening to shatter the normality of polite society._

She looked back on it almost wistfully now, remembering the naïve infatuations, "young love (nothing to concern one's self over, unimportant in retrospect)".

_No more than sheer innocence, exchanging only half-smiles and unsure looks and small gifts: a delicate silver pendant, a badger. _

They told her she was young, naïve, but Helga had never been young, not in the mature sense of the word, at least. "Old soul" they had called her, but "precocious" might have been kinder.

_Hands clasped in a brief few, precious moments, glancing sideways to avoid the accusations of the others._

She knew what she was doing; it was a conscious, twisted effort to abandon any inhibiting morals, leaving behind baby fat and childhood courtesies. She wanted to be brave, like him.

"_Ginger," he sneered back, challenging her with those penetrating, glinting eyes; for a second, he wanted to be soft like her, let go of his cold, stone prison. _

_He __couldn't__… wouldn't._

She couldn't… wouldn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Ahhh, so you basically have no reason not to review, but if you can somehow justify it in your head, at least tell me this:<strong>

**Who is "he"?**

**Basically, just review.**

**-Mo**


	13. Terry Boot

**Disclaimer: I'm not JKR**

****Terry Boot was a Ravenclaw and a member of the D.A. (14 mentions.)****

**"_Is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a Dragon? It's everywhere, everyone's talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by the Carrows for yelling about in the Great Hall at dinner!_"—Neville Longbottom**

* * *

><p>Terry Boot was:<p>

-A storyteller

-A "most capable" potioneer.

(To him they were one-and-the-same.)

To make a potion

You simply borrowed pieces, mixed them up.

_(Agrippa, Baneberry, Eye of Newt, Shrivelfig.)_

To tell as a story

You simply excused fact, borrowed rumors, (mixed them up.)

_(Harry Potter broke into Gringotts. He escaped on a dragon. He disarmed 600 wizard guards. They just found all the goblins, dead.)_

Terry Boot took the whispers.

Terry Boot took the whispers and shouted them.

He stood up rashly, (brashly.) Screamed-

"HE'LL FALL." The Ravenclaws surrounding him _fell_ silent.

(20 pairs of eyes.)

"HARRY POTTER BROKE INTO GRINGOTTS. HE FOUND A WEAPON-"

(40 pairs of eyes.)

"-THAT WILL BRING HIM DOWN. BELLATRIX LESTRANGE-"

(60 pairs of eyes.)

"SHE TRIED TO KILL THEM, BUT SHE WAS NO MATCH. YOU REMEMBER-"

(80 pairs of eyes.)

"-HERMIONE, SMARTEST WITCH IN THE SCHOOL. THE THREE MOUNTED A-"

(100 pairs of eyes.)

His voice had reached the teachers. (Mcgonagall had a feverish glint in her eyes. Flitwick had clasped his hands together.)

His voice had reached the Carrows. (Alecto had a feverish glint in her eye. Amycus had clasped his wand tightly.)

The first spell brought Terry down.

(_Crucio!)_

The floor was cold, unforgiving. It enveloped him, (surely.) Sprung tears in his eyes.

Padma offered a quiet hand. He took hers in his.

(One-and-the-same.)

"Dragon," He said.

(1 pair of eyes.)

"DRAGON!" he yelled brashly, (rashly) regaining his footing.

(200 pairs of eyes.)

Six of their owners cursed him next.

Terry Boot was a:

-A storyteller

-A "most capable potioneer"

-A hero

* * *

><p><strong>If you're to lazy to review copy and paste the following sentence: what a beautiful and BUBBLICIOUS story!<strong>

**-Vi**


	14. Marcus Belby

**Laffy-Taffy the Grape, Jenna Linda, and JediGreenGirl, you guessed it... Salazar Slytherin was the mystery man! As a reward for reviewing and guessing correctly, you win ETERNAL GLORY. woot.**

**For any of you that don't know, Marcus Belby was a candidate for the Slug Club, but was passed over in the end. He was a Ravenclaw and his uncle was the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion.**

**Disclaimer: I am definitely not J. K. Rowling, if I was, this chapter wouldn't be in here.**

* * *

><p>Marcus Belby (14 mentions)<p>

Hi. (He stumbles over the word, casts a nervous glance to the side.)

_She turns, smiling warmly. She is charming, simply charming._

I- (If he knew what he wanted to say, he would tell her, but words don't come easily.)

_She looks directly at him, unflinchingly, her steely gray eyes boring into him: curiosity, not intrusiveness._

an awkward laugh (He wants to say something intelligent, witty, something _he_ could never come up with.)

_She waits. She is beautiful, but nobody seems to notice._

a deep breath (He doesn't have her fluid eloquence, that quiet brilliance he so admires.)

_She cocks her head just slightly, furrows her brow almost imperceptibly._

I'm Bel- Marcus. Marcus Belby. (He wants to impress her, but he knows he hasn't.)

_Her smile widens. I know._

_She knows._

a half-smile (He focuses on the obvious, the easy, straightforward facts: his feet on the marble floor, the sweaty palms of his hands, her calm, gray-blue eyes.)

_She gestures behind her, towards the porthole of the common room. Aren't you coming?_

a quick nod (He is to desperate, too eager, but he hopes it doesn't matter, trusts it doesn't matter.)

_She turns, raising a pale hand upward to grasp the polished, bronze eagle._

"_She has existed for year after year, but aged only a month."_

a shared smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, I guess you should review... but be kind, I don't like it either.<strong>

**So tell me instead:**

**Who was the girl and what was the answer to the riddle?**

**The winner will receive another fantastic prize that has yet to be revealed... ooooh.**

**-Mo**


	15. Bogrod

**Sorry its been a while!**

**Laughy-Taffy the Grape correctly guessed that the girl was Luna. You win A PAT ON THE BACK. (Go ahead, pat yourself.)**

**JediGreenGirl correctly guessed that the girl was Luna AND the answer to the riddle was the moon. You win TWO PATS ON THAT BACK.**

**Shout out to our two OTHER reviewers: Jenna Linda and WritersNeverDie! YAY**

**This chapter is about Bogrod. (15 mentions.) ****He was a goblin who worked at Gringotts. During their break in, Harry put Bogrod under the Imperius C****urse in order to enter Bellatrix's vault. Whilst the trio tried to escape, Bogrod was burnt to death by the security dragon.**

**Disclaimer: I'm not JKR.**

* * *

><p><em>Dull white scales, olds scars- new scars, muted new- born eyes.<em>

It had been Bogrod's idea: bring a dragon into Gringotts.

(Sharp teeth had ground, eyes had glared, but his colleagues had consented.)

It had been Bogrod's responsibility:

bring a dragon into Gringotts.

_Young gleaming scales, knobby wings, muted new- born eyes._

It had been blind then too.

"_All the more_ ferocious," the toothless man had informed him.

_All the more-_

Bogrod was excellent at pain.

He knew where to _rip-tear-hit_, when the dragon heard the clankers.

(_Clank clank_)

_Muted new-born eyes,_

The last things to hold onto before he burnt to a crisp.

* * *

><p><strong>Not my best...but there will be more coming soon!<strong>

**Thanks-**

**Vi**


	16. Gabrielle Delacour

Gabrielle Delacour (15 mentions)

Sorry it's been so long, but things have been hectic lately. ANYWAY, y'all should know Gabrielle, Fleur's little sister. That's it.

* * *

><p>They told her that she was lucky, blessed,<p>

_Good genes, that's all_

She knew that already.

They told her looks didn't matter,

_It's what's on the inside that counts_

She knew they were lying.

They watched her closely, watched as she matured, blossomed,

an _angel-faced child_ to a_ lovely damsel_

She knew they were waiting.

They had always been waiting, watching, searching for an error. They held their breath for the moment when she would stray from the sacred path her sister had so carefully laid out for her,

a _cherub child_ to a _poised champion _to a _delicate wife_

They always knew.

They always knew that they were different, opposite, the two seraph children. The same silky waves, the same ocean eyes, the same milky skin,

_the same, but different_

Everyone knew.

She never received the dreamy looks or the ongoing, endless compliments. They told her they were the same,

_an uncanny resemblance_

She knew they were wrong.

She knew she would never be good for them, for herself, for anyone.

_nobody_

She knew.

* * *

><p>So, I hope you liked it!<p>

Please, please, PLEASE review.

... PLEASE.

-Mo


	17. Walburga Black

**Hey guys! Sorry its been a while. School has started, and things are crazy right now.**

**ANYWHO: Here is Walburga Black, Sirius and Regulus' mother. (16 mentions.)**

* * *

><p>They gave her:<p>

-An old cameo brooch.

(Silver rimmed, with a white flower on the head.)

-One _fine_ _estate._

-A pureblood husband.

(And a _full-white_ wedding...)

...to which the guests wore red to _celebrate._

_(Keep the bloodline strong._

_Keep the bloodline strong.)_

* * *

><p>They gave her:<p>

-An old cameo brooch.

(Silver rimmed, fastened around her throat.)

-One filthy, Black_ estate_.

-A bigot husband.

(And a _full-white_ wedding...)

...to which the guests wore red to celebrate.

_(Keep the blood line strong__._

_Keep the blood line strong)_

* * *

><p><em>Her mother had handed over her cameo brooch sharply. The open pin slid into Walburga's palm.<em>

_"See the flower on the pins head?" Her mother asked. "It's pure...healthy. Why is that?"_

_"I don't know, Ma'am." She said, sucking her bleeding palm absentmindedly. _

_"This flower was correctly tended to, Walburga. The ones around it...the weaker ones, they were pruned off to keep it strong. Filth has a way of...manifesting itself. And it travels thickest through blood. Its your job to stop it, for I will not have the name of Black disgraced by my very own daughter. Walburga, do you understand me?"_

_"Yes, ma'am" She said, and she meant it. Walburga had no intention of disgracing House Black. _

_Ima's face softened at the look of raw terror on her daughter's face._

_"You're a good girl, Walburga, but remember what I said! If your children ever have unnatural thoughts...befriending mudbloods and filth, it will reflect poorly on you. The weaker ones, they have to be pruned to keep the bloodline strong. Heavan forbid...they start mating with them."_

_"Yes, ma'am."_

_"Why, if you had ever whispered such a though, I would have disowned you in a heartbeat."_

_Walburga sucked harder on her bleeding palm._

_"That is all" Ima said, and left quickly._

* * *

><p><strong>What did you guys think?<strong>

**I don't have time to write a long AN, sorry!**

**Please, PLEASE review.**

**If I get 8 reviews I'll link a picture I drew of Walburga, and update before Friday. **

**-Vi**


End file.
